Platform Soul. Well, Almost. (Part One)

The news lately has made me realize that I need to get stumping if I’m going to have a successful run at the Presidency in 2008. The Washington Post, you see, mentioned in article that Sen. George Allen, formerly a goober, Governor of Virginia and currently seeking re-election to the $enate, is a potential 2008 presidential candidate. This was mentioned in an article that was about how he failed to disclose some stock options. Allen, you may recall, is primarily known for being a bigoted asshole. (He reminds me a lot of my Aunt Ella, who used to start almost every joke the same way: “You know I don’t hate [insert your favorite religious/ethnic/racial/sexual slur here], but….”) This is a man who’s so bigoted, in fact, that his own “recently discovered” Jewish background is apparently offensive to him. None of which has a damn thing to do with the article, but in the spirit of politics…well, there you go.

The article—which came from the notoriously heathen AP—was careful to point out that Allen claims that he didn’t think he had to disclose these options—even though the rules clearly state that he does—because they’re currently worth less than he paid for them. I’m not sure what those options are actually worth but all I have to say on the matter is that my Jeep Wrangler is worth less now than what I paid for it, but if I sold it, it would still put a couple thousand bucks in my pocket, something my friend the Evil Belac though I should have on the record and frankly—because that’s the kind of honesty I know the voters want—I’m with him on this.

So I got that going for me. Easy financial disclosure, I mean. Plus I can read the rules, and follow them, too, not that I’m casting aspersions or anything.

My point—there really was one, once—being that if a guy like Allen can already be a potential Candidate, can, god help me, Ted Kennedy be far behind? Or Foley?

So anyway, after having mentioned some of my Cabinet picks in previous posts—and also that Ed. Note guy won’t let me post the most hysterical anti-football rant ever written, on the premise that some of those I offend (Steelers fans especially) may actually know where I live—I think it’s time to let you know a little more about my platform.

The most important plank on my platform —and I have mentioned this before—is the switch from “Hail to the Chief” to “Play That Funky Music, White Boy” as my theme music. I’m completely serious. I’m almost positive that President Bush would’ve been looking at seriously better polls right now if, immediately after realizing that not even Dick “Shotgun” Cheney could spin the bottle of Listerine Saddam left behind into “Weapons of Mass Destruction,” he had adopted Genesis’s “I Can’t Dance” as his theme.

I have already outlined my plans for Congress, so let me move on and explain how I will save taxpayer money in the Executive Branch. First, State Dinners. These things cost a fortune. From now on, unless France is involved, it’s a couple kegs of beer, free Jack Daniels shots and deep-fried turkeys. Well, chips and dip, of course. All music will be provided by a new officially approved White House band, led by Mark Knopfler and called the Hunky-Dory Junk and Jazz Band, because hey, why not? Pot will be available from any waiter, plus Twinkies and Cheese Puffs. We’ll laugh, we’ll dance, we’ll carry on—oh, the treaties we’ll sign!

Why exclude France? Because I plan to get the world to like America again, and I think playing dirty tricks on France is one way to soften ‘em up. So, don’t tell France, but the first time they’re invited over? We’re gonna sauté slugs and tell ‘em that they’re escargots sans coquilles en sauce à fromage avec le paprika âgé, which means “snails without shells in cheese sauce with aged paprika,” and which the French will just eat up because they’re as easily fooled by a hoity-toity name as the rest of us schlubs. Then the rest of us countries, before heading out the back door for deep-fried turkey, will stand there behind the curtains, laughing until we pee just a little.

Also I plan to eliminate Mondays. Not that hard, as it turns out. We’ll simply extend Saturday and Sunday by twelve hours each and skip straight into Tuesday after Sunday night. Sure, a lot of people will feel like hell and probably call in sick, but it won’t look suspicious because it’ll be Tuesday.

If it goes well, I’m thinking of instituting Casual Sex Fridays. (I know there’re only about eight of you, but can I get some feedback on this? Are there certain condom lobbyists I should pay particularly close attention to, for instance? Should we draw up charts or something? Or is that what the Department of Education is for?) I will share more of my positions but I haven’t thought them up yet, so for now that’ll have to do, except to mention, for the benefit of my friend the Evil Belac, that Flying Cars are On The List, I swear.

So can I have my Jeep back now? Unless you sold it, I mean?